


English Class Sucks

by sve_aph



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: English class, Fluff, High School AU, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sve_aph/pseuds/sve_aph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speaking his feelings has always been something that Berwald isn't particularly good at, and he's not pleased to find that he's going to be graded on it. His only hope is that maybe Tino can teach him something about emotion. It's too bad that Tino can barely decipher his own emotions in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	English Class Sucks

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry about the inaccuracies in my Swedish; I tried.

It was that time again. _English Class._

Now, I’ll be honest. I wouldn’t normally have any particular feelings about English Class, and I still probably don’t. I’m not great at English- it being my second language- but I’m still better than some of the native speakers. It’s the people who are _in_ my class that make me nervous.

See, in the beginning of the year, everything was fine and dandy. I had my little group of friends and we all worked together when there were group projects. It was me, Matthias, Emil, Lukas, and Berwald. Matthias was annoying but loveable and honestly a bit of conversational glue, Emil was a ball of angst, and Lukas had always just been a troll. And there was also Berwald who scared the crap out of everyone but also may or may not have resulted in a few wet dreams for me. Basically, it was your normal group of friends. Kinda.

So everything was normal. Except then our first semester project we were assigned a section of Romeo and Juliet to rewrite with a different outcome and then reenact in front of the class. I wasn’t worried at all, and maybe even a little excited, especially if we got to act out one of the fight scenes. But then we didn’t get a fight scene. We got the wedding scene. And it sucked. Because we were all guys.

Now, there were really only three characters in the wedding scene: Romeo, Juliet, and the Friar. But since we got to rewrite it however we wanted, we added in Paris and Rosaline. Matthias had declared that Romeo was lame because he ended up killing himself and so therefore Berwald was Romeo since Matthias and Berwald didn’t really get along.

I was forced into the role of Juliet because everybody agreed that I would be an ‘adorable blushing bride’ which of course made me defend my masculinity, but I was the only one who disagreed, so the notion passed. The comment had also seemed to make Berwald angry but I think it’s only because he wanted a reason to be mad at Matthias.

Emil was the Friar because he didn’t want to do anything, Matthias was Paris, and Lukas was Rosaline. Lukas only consented to being Rosaline if he was the one who ended up killing Matthias. So in the end it seemed like everyone was happy with their role but me. Except for the part where I got to be held in Berwald’s strong, sturdy arms for brief moments at a time… but that wasn’t important.

Anyways, after the whole Shakespearean fiasco, Berwald had taken to calling me his ‘wife’, and nobody ever even protested except for me. After a while, I didn’t even bother trying. Berwald was quiet and hard to understand, but he was also really stubborn and it was pretty clear that there was no hope of ever changing his mind.

That unit was done with, though, and it was time for the second semester projects. The teacher had told us a few weeks ago that they would be individual this time around, so I was hopeful, but the actual topic hadn’t been announced yet.

“Alright, guys. This is it. For your second semester English projects, you are going to choose, analyze, and recite a poem for the class. Here’s the rubric. You can spend all of class today on it, but everything else will be done in your own time over the next two weeks, okay? Have fun, and don’t forget to be unique!” The teacher announced.

Huh. Poetry. I could probably do poetry. I heard what I had learned to interpret as an upset sigh from my right, and turned to see Berwald glaring woefully at the rubric. Gathering up the courage I always needed to initiate conversation with him, I tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Berwald? Are you okay?” I asked carefully. Berwald grunted and underlined something on his rubric with the tip of his pencil before turning the paper so I could see it.

_Emotion and Articulation: Poetry is about expressing and articulating your emotions through spoken word. Speak loudly and clearly so that everyone in the room can hear you. Let the emotions flow through your voice so that your audience can experience exactly what the poem intends for the listeners to feel. 15 points._

I frowned a little. I could see why a section on Emotion and Articulation would bother Berwald, seeing as neither of those were really something he seemed capable of. Despite the fact that I had been friends with him for a while, I still had trouble understanding him when he spoke or telling what he was feeling- if he was even feeling anything at all in the first place.

“Wow. Well… the teacher will go easy on you, won’t she? She understands that you’re trying, right?” After all, it was no secret that Berwald had quite a bit of trouble speaking clearly. To my surprise, Berwald shook his head morosely. To prove his point, he pulled out several other rubrics from earlier presentations and pointed out where the teacher had marked him down for not noticeably articulating.

“Ah took speech ther’py fer five yea’s. I don’ think ah’ll get much better in two weeks.” Berwald muttered. I nodded, remembering him having to leave class early and come back late every day for the longest time in order to attend speech therapy. He had improved some as he battled a thick Swedish accent, but understanding him still took quite a bit of concentration.

“Well… that… that’s really unfortunate, Ber. I… I’m not sure what to tell you. Do you know what poem you’re going to do?” I felt really bad for Berwald, to be honest. I had never really had trouble expressing my emotions so I never thought about how being unable to express oneself would affect your grades, but apparently Berwald had been dealing with this problem for a while.

“Ah think so. There’s a Swedish poet ah like- Tomas Transtrӧmer. Some of his poems have been translated to English so ah’ll probably choose one of those.” Berwald replied. At least he could insert his Swedish background into this project, I guess.

“That’s cool. I honestly don’t know what I’ll choose. There aren’t very many famous Finnish poets, otherwise I’d probably do something similar. Honestly, I’ll probably procrastinate the entire project until the night of.” I admitted. It was true. I was easily distracted, and it was rare for me to complete a project before the last minute.

“Ah… Ah could… you could study wi’ me an’ Ah could keep ya focused… if ya want…” Berwald offered slowly. I blushed, thinking of all the ways that Berwald could do the opposite of keeping me focused. I willed those thoughts away and smiled brightly.

“That would be great!” As much as I could and would adore the thought of Berwald and I together in my mind, I could never broach the trust and friendship we shared when I was so happy just being around him.

* * *

 

“Hey, Ber? Are you alright?” Berwald was sitting at the desk in his room and I was lounging on the bed, trying not to imagine other situations that involved a bed and the other person in the room (and also trying not to fall asleep). Berwald had done a really good job of catching me when my mind was starting to drift and I had gotten a lot done, but by that time I was tired and didn’t want to work anymore. That’s when Berwald started muttering broodily to himself for several minutes, and I decided it was time to intervene.

“Ah’m fine, Tino. Ah jus’… Ah can’t figure out how tah put… put _emotion_ intah mah voice.” He finally confessed. I blinked.

“Do you want to practice in front of me so I can try and give you advice on how to improve?” I suggested readily. Berwald looked unsure (at least that’s what I think it was- I was still so bad at reading him) for a moment before he nodded his head and cleared his throat.

“They switch off thah light and its white shade  
Glimmers for ah moment before dissolving  
like ah tablet in ah glass of darkness. Then up.  
Thah hotel walls rise intah thah black sky.  
The moments of love have settled, an’ they sleep  
but their most secret thoughts meet as when  
two colours meet and flow intah each other  
on thah wet paper of ah schoolboy’s painting.  
it is dark and silent. But thah town has pulled closer  
tonight. With quenched windows. The houses have approached.  
They stand close up in ah throng, waiting,  
ah crowd whose faces have no expressions.”

I frowned a little. Berwald’s face was scrunched a little in concentration, and it was clear that he was trying really hard. But… it wasn’t in any way audible. Berwald rarely spoke very much at a time, so the fact that his voice was a complete monotone wasn’t exactly obvious- that is, until now.

It was hard enough to understand him on a comprehension basis due to his accent, but when I realized that he had absolutely no idea how to inflect, it made sense that he never got any point for Emotion and Articulation. I felt bad thinking that about my best friend because I knew that Berwald was honestly a really good student. Except for this one thing which I felt that we probably shouldn’t be graded on anyways.

“Well… okay, so, um… your poem is about love, right? So you’re trying to convey the love between the man and the woman described to your audience.” I began, trying to find a way to teach someone to be more emotional. It wasn’t exactly something I’d tried before.

“It could be ah man an’ ah man.” Berwald muttered. I let a wry grin stretch across my face. I hadn’t exactly come out to anybody and it was funny that Berwald had picked up on that detail.

“Yeah, that’s true, but relatively unlikely. However you interpret it, you have to make sure you focus on that loving emotion and convey it to your audience.” He seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding, clearing his throat, and beginning again.

And I _swear to god_ his eyes bored right into me as he recited that poem. He never blinked, and I found that I couldn’t either. My soul was bared to this man and it _terrified_ me. I didn’t hear a word he said. I realized that I was having trouble breathing and I quickly sucked in air through my nose.

Despite the sudden panic I was experiencing due to an onslaught of feelings and emotions, I could still hear Berwald’s voice. And he still wasn’t inflecting _at all._ The only difference was the eye contact and I had overreacted to that due to the fact that I had ridiculously large crush on my best friend.

Berwald glanced at me expectantly as he waited for my input. I knew there was no hope in fighting the blush that crept up my throat, so I let it come as I tried to focus on what I was saying.

“Um… ah, that was better, actually. The eye contact helped a lot. Yeah, isn’t there a section for eye contact on the rubric? So definitely don’t forget that. Um… okay, I think I have to go home now. We can work on this more later this week, right?” As much as I wanted to stay I also knew I had to leave before I started losing my mind just being in his presence.

Berwald nodded and I almost caught the wry smile that twitched his lips before I packed my bag and walked home.

* * *

 

“I don’t know what to do or how to help him and it’s strange because he’s normally so good at schoolwork.” I had been explaining Berwald’s predicament to Lukas during lunchtime. If we were in the same lunch period as Berwald and Matthias, we would’ve sat with them, but we weren’t. I usually spoke quietly to Lukas and Emil always just did his homework that was due the next period.

“He can speak Swedish, can’t he?” Lukas asked. I nodded.

“Yeah, pretty fluently. Sometimes I hear him talk to his mom and it’s weird because I never would have thought that he had trouble enunciating words.” I said.

“Hmm. Maybe…”

* * *

 

“Alright, Berwald. You’re up next.” I scowled at the teacher, my usual smile gone. Berwald and I had worked on his poem all week and yet there had been little to no improvement in his speaking skills. I was mad that the teacher insisted on grading us on something as inconsequential as speaking with emotion. Especially since some people obviously had trouble doing that at all.

“Hey. Tino. Tell Berwald he can present in another language.” Lukas muttered to me. I gave him a look, but didn’t question it. The teacher had originally insisted that we all do poems in English, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if Lukas had blackmailed her into agreeing otherwise.

“Berwald!” I exclaimed, rushing up to the podium where he was gathering his notes and preparing to begin. He raised an eyebrow, opting not to speak as he so often did. “Do you know your poem in Swedish?” I whispered. Berwald nodded, and I grinned, suddenly excited. “Tell it in Swedish, Ber, please. Trust me.” I requested eagerly, struggling to keep my voice down. He nodded again and I scurried back to my seat, ignoring the questioning stares from everyone else in the room. Berwald finally had a chance to express himself.

“Ah am going tah recite an’ analyze the poem ‘Den Rning’ by Tomas Transtrӧmer, ah Swedish poet. The title of thah poem translates tah ‘The Couple’.

De släcka ljuset och dess vita nyans   
glimmar för ett ögonblick innan upplösning   
som en tablett i ett glas mörker. Sedan upp.   
Hotell väggarna stiger in i den svarta himlen.   
Rörelserna av kärlek har bosatt sig, och de sover   
men deras mest hemliga tankar möter som när   
två färger möts och flyta in i varandra   
på det våta papperet i en skol målning.   
Det är mörkt och tyst. Men staden har dragit närmare   
ikväll. Med kylda fönster. Husen har närmat.   
De står nära upp i en trängsel, väntan,   
en folkmassa vars ansikten har inga uttryck”

I could feel my cheeks growing embarrassingly warm as Berwald spoke. It was so clear that this was his native language. His voice was so clear, strong, and fluid. I could _hear_ the emotions we had discussed and analyzed all week in the hopes of getting him to emote. I don’t know how I didn’t realize that this was simply the way Berwald knew to express himself- through Swedish, not English. He was like a radio station and I was on the wrong frequency. Once I tuned in to him, it was easy to understand.

Berwald’s eyes locked with mine the entire time and I was sure he would lose points for that because that’s _not_ what the rubric means when it talks about ‘eye contact’ but it was okay because I was finally _understanding_ and that was such a new thing for me when it came to Berwald.

_It could be ah man an’ ah man._

I was a man… and Berwald was a man… oh goodness, was that what he had been trying to tell me the whole time? We had spent all that time in his _bedroom_ talking about _love_ and he hadn’t said anything until now? We were both such fools.

Berwald sat down in his chair next to me after he finished presenting and we looked at each other. Nothing had changed. Berwald still looked at me with that unchanging stare. But I _finally_ understood what that _meant_. I was tuned in to him, and I finally heard what he had been trying but unable to say the entire time.

The bell rang and we left the classroom in silence. Blushing, I took his hand and we walked to our next class.

Berwald smiled.


End file.
